New Territories
by NairobiWonders
Summary: An argument leads to understanding.


"You are a maniacal egotist, you know that don't you?" Watson was livid.

They had saved the argument until they got home.

"And you are acting like a hysterical female." If she was going to resort to name calling, so was he. He slammed the brownstone door behind him.

She sprung round to face him, "He was talking to me, not you. It had nothing to do with you or our case. And you verbally assaulted him for no reason whatsoever."

Sherlock blinked at her and stood stone-faced calculating the chances of winning this argument.

He purposefully brought his tone down to a more conversational level. "The man was being abusive. The language he directed towards you was highly offensive and I reacted appropriately."

"You, of all people, should know that I am more than capable of defending myself. You humiliated the man. Now Joey is going to tell the whole family what a jerk I have for a partner." Joan ran her hand through her hair and paced away from him. She wasn't sure if she was upset for Joey or because he was going to bad mouth Sherlock to the rest of the family.

"Again, how was I supposed to know "Joey" was your cousin and prone to greeting you with expletives and obscene hand gestures!" Sherlock's voice began to rise again.

"You know everything about everyone, Sherlock! You can tell what someone's had for lunch by the way they stand for god's sake! Surely you could have figured out Joey was family or at least someone I knew."

Sherlock stared at her. He knew he had a blind spot when it came to Watson and it was getting bigger. Deducing anything about her was practically impossible. He was too close. It angered him.

"Alright, fine!" His voice rose and his face reddened. "I made a mistake! Does that make you happy, hmm? I erred in coming to your defense. I assure you it shan't happen again, Watson. You obviously don't need anyone to help you with anything!" He purposefully towered over her. "You are wholly self- sufficient, hard-shelled and impenetrable, with no need or use for dolts such as myself."

He struck too close to home. She looked up at him, her face and voice strained with rage, "You are such an ass!" Joan moved away from him and bounded up the stairs. The door to her room slammed shut.

Sherlock stood and seethed, infuriated with her reaction but more so with his. She was right to a degree. He had been unnecessarily quick to jump in; if he had taken a moment to observe, he would have discerned the lack of true threat in her cousin's demeanor. Instead, he defaulted to male primate behavior and moved to defend "his female." He covered his face in embarrassment at the thought. Watson would bludgeon him senseless if he ever verbalized those sentiments.

Sherlock sighed and berated himself as he made his way to the kitchen. The urge to bake overtook him.

Upstairs, Joan fumed and she wasn't sure why. Her cousin was not the nicest or brightest of the Watson clan; in fact, she held him in low regard precisely for the behavior that had caused the uproar. Joey thought it funny to make Joan uncomfortable by greeting her with crudeness. He referred to her as "the little lady" of the family because of her reserved demeanor.

Joan worried about what her cousin was going to tell her uncle and what her uncle would tell her dad. She loved her stepfamily but they were a judgmental lot and she hated the thought of her dad thinking poorly of Sherlock and of her.

Sherlock's decimation of Joey and his ego rattled her. The vehemence of his verbal lashing embarrassed her. It was unnecessary. She could take care of herself. Joan needed no one's protection. So why did that jab Sherlock just took at her invulnerability wound her so deeply.

Joan spent a good long time at the window, watching the clouds build and disperse as the sky darkened, lost in her attempt to unravel the tangle of her emotions.

Her phone chimed a text: "Made dinner, if your interested."

Sherlock always seemed to think he could charm his way into her good graces with food. She texted back: "Not interested. Thanks."

Downstairs Sherlock stared at her response. "Well, at least she said thanks," he muttered to himself. Moving to the table, he removed her place setting. He consoled himself by heaping a plate of golden, roasted potatoes and a piece of leftover chicken a la Holmes for himself. Her loss, he thought.

Sherlock sat and stared at his food until it went cold.

He dumped the contents of his plate in the bin on top of the Yorkshire puddings and retreated into his room. He returned to the kitchen table with paper and pen in hand.

Joan lay in bed pretending to read. She'd been staring at the same word for what seemed like hours. The sound pulled her out of her meditative dream state. An envelope had been slid under her door.

"Dear Watson,

Forgive the intrusion, but the need to communicate my reasonings for acting as I did has proven too strong to ignore. The written word is most often the best vehicle in matters such as this for it allows time for contemplation and precision in expression. Plus you've more or less barred me from your presence via the wooden barricade you have placed between us.

Understand this is not an apology so much as an explanation. Although my physical age registers me as a man in my forties, my experience circumnavigating the intricacies of interpersonal relationships is wholly inadequate for said age and I find myself quite often floundering.

I am yoked by hitherto unfathomable emotions and seeking release, find myself drowning in the depth of those very same feelings. Flailing wildly in an effort to respond appropriately, I instead most often injure those around me as well as myself.

To but it bluntly, I don't understand.

Around you reason vanishes, and I find myself reacting in a primal manner that I find difficult to control. Childlike, I wish you to find favor in my actions, seek your smile and desire to protect you from all harm.

My reaction to what I perceived was your assault drew on some instinctual level. I am ashamed to admit there was no thought involved. It was irrational and visceral and I can at this juncture make no promise that such an outburst won't occur once more.

You have created new lands within me, upon whose shores I cling to as I strive to understand what is before me. Please give me time to acclimate and guide me, if you have it within your heart, through the wilderness before me."

~Sherlock

Joan released the breath she held and swallowed hard. She picked up the yellow legal pad and started writing.

Sherlock sat on the floor outside her door, back pressed against the cold wall. He felt miserable and stupid, wishing he could take back the envelope. She probably laughed at his childishness and tore it to pieces. Or worse never read it.

The shush of paper sliding on wood grabbed his attention. His stomach tightened and his heart raced. Sherlock carefully took the folded yellow sheet from where it sat between their worlds.

Dear Sherlock,

"Forgive my lack of eloquence. Please know my words are true and come from the heart. I have sat here trying to understand why I reacted so strongly to something to which I should have given much less weight. Your outburst was inappropriate, yes. But so was my reaction.

In truth, I do not care about my cousin's hurt feelings. My response was partially a reaction to the potential harm of Joey's bruised ego in his recounting of the incident. I don't want my family to think ill of you. I want them to see how special and amazing you are and to care for you as I do.

Once I stopped and examined it, I found my anger is not directed at you but at myself. You're right in your assessment - I am whole onto myself. I do not allow others in. I don't want them to see the mess in here, within my soul. But you somehow slipped in through some small crevice and stayed. You sit inside me in the darkness and do not judge the aberrations. The comfort I derive from your presence, the extent to which you have become a part of me scares me.

In coming to my defense, you made me see my weakness. I felt vulnerable, less strong in that I have an other who will stand with me. I know that makes no sense. Perhaps I don't want anyone seeing how much we are to each other.

I too am trying to acclimate to new territories."

The letter stopped there with no signature. Sherlock wiped at his face as he processed what he read. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her standing in the doorway watching him.

Joan took two slow steps to reach him and sat down beside him on the floor. Their eyes met and locked but no words were spoken. A small nod and a smile sufficed.

She moved closer and bumped his shoulder. "No wonder no one else would have us."

He stared straight ahead as he spoke, "No wonder we would have no one else."

They allowed each other the extravagance of touch - his arm came around her shoulders and she leaned into him. They sat together in silence for a while until he heard the light rumbling of her stomach. He stood and took her by the hand, "Come, let's get you some dinner."

Joan smiled, enjoying the newness of the sensation - his large, rough hand encircling hers. "Alright. What did you make?"

Sherlock and Joan chatted amiably about dinner as they made their way to the kitchen.


End file.
